So, is my life totally F**ed up?
Ok, so I'm scared.
Sometimes I get angry, and a lot of the time,m I can be depressed. I mean, if I am out saving broken and mean horses, that pretty much tells you something about me. Perhaps I was a little girl that desperately wished to be rescued. And maybe I got my wish. Not in the way I wanted it... but I did get another family, and another life.
I got sick, and my family pretty much didnt want me any more, because when people hear the words "brain damaged" they think "mental retardation," and I use that term, with all the pejoratives it conjures, for a reason... because if thats what people think, may as well aknowledge it and get past it.
I kind of felt watching the whole Terri Schiavo thing, like I was looking at a kindred spirit. It was one of those "One Of us!" moments, like in that movie, Freaks. I kind of knew what it felt like to be her. To be diminished, and concious, but pared down to the simplest essence of our being. Concerns go from "What color shall my hair be?" to "Can I get that sip of water to stay in my mouth?"
Articulation goes from a question of whether one is comfortable with public speaking, to wether one can get people to understand that the word youre having trouble with is "STOP!"
My problem is that words would mangle with my several layers of thoughts, and would pile into one huge gob of consonants and a vowel or two. I still do that, only more cutely, now. That would be one word. Usually my problem is that I cant get the word I want at all. I just stop. Or lose my train of thought in mid-sentence and end up wondering just what I was saying, why I am here, for a second. Mostly, it doesnt happen any more. When It does, I feel embearassed, but mostly ok about it, because everybody has brain farts... mine dont HAVE to be special.
But I do have stuff to bitch about.... My mom, and how she tries to push me around. Then theres the way E and i never seem to be on the same page, which is mostly remedied by the knowledge that nobody's EVER on the samee page. I'm not special in being denied perfect understanding and harmony in my marriage. In fact, thats probably the most normal thing about me. My childhood was awful, but whose childhood wasn't? Not very many people can claim perfect childhood, and personally, when people do, I always suspect they're lying. Usually people with the very most F**ked up lives, are the ones who claim they're perfect.
But the wwhole encepalitis thing really did make my life, and my teenage years different. I grew up mortal. There was no long golden span of years where I felt invincible and forever young, I was struggling to be alive, and I really appreciate every happy moment. They are a gift, because I grew up with pain, and frailty, and horribly bizzarre behaviours from just being STRANGE, I kind of appreciate normal moments more.
Like Sunlight on warm grass, and ice cream, even petting the cat. Its all so incredibly GOOD. Just being alive is good. Smelling the orange trees and the lemon tree outside my office window is a great privlage to me. I get excited about hearing 80's Hairband rock on the computer radio station, because it reminds me of when I was young and stupid and wasnt afraid of anything. At the old farm I had a boysenberry bramble growing in the front yard that I really enjoyd for a "Sacrament of Spring" as the taste was like nothing so much as a taste of Persephone's joy at ... well, escaping the Land Of The Dead. Just like I kind of did.
Kind of.
The chill hand of Pulto has left its mark on me. I get scared and I can be afraid of the things that lurk in the dark...I'm not afraid of the dark, thats absurd! But I do know more than most folks about what can be hiding in it. Bad things, scary people, and the stuff youre too afraid to think about in the daytime, because someone might see it on your face, if your thought about it where there was light to hit you. Those are the things that cause me to look out for broken horses with dark histories and bring to them a little bit of light, some good food and a place of safety. The Diablo horses dont really scare me because i have seen real demons, and the horses who have met real demons too... well, I cant leave them in hell. Somebody pulled me out, and took the time to do what they could for me.
I owe a soul-debt to do the same, if I can, for the Others like me.
That led me to some really pretty wonderful things. Like Lucky, and Mahiar (a sexy little horse, with a diablos temper about her dinner) and CJ. CJ may be the best. She was a broken child, and I had taught her other sister how to ride, but hadnt originally been very interested in her. But then... she got broken. Her head was hit, not once, but several times. She was partially deaf and so Fouled up she couldnt stay in school. I cant believe how much I love her. She came into my life at a time when I thought E and i were headed for Splitsville, and she gave me an emotional anchor, as well as someone I had to look ok for. No freakouts were possible--the girl was watching. So I dealt with my problems and taught her how to take care of the pony. She did good and loved the pony...
But then he died.
Isnt that just like life? Pony got sick, lingered for two weeeks, and E had to put him to sleep. It was a horrible day, for me, for CJ, and most of all, for E. Skoogie was a beautiful pony, too. Black, and clever and gaited, he was naughty enough to be a challenge, but all his pranks were funny... at least, if you weren't on the recieving end of it. I watched and could not help. CJ helped me as best she could and went with me to the hospital to visit pony. But there he died. I couldnt change that, and I couldnt stop it.
(sigh)
I'd just lost my favorite horse, NITA, shy of a year ago. I could relate. But we did the right thing. Just like we did the right thing for NITA, and for my little cat, Ken. I miss them all, every day. But it does make me patient with Guerma, and Kara, and GG, and even Mahiar, when I might not have been earlier in my life. I know that they can be lost, taken from me in the blink of an eye. Fifteen years ago, G died, and I lost my mentor, a great friend, and perhaps the only good parent I ever had. It blew my universe apart, but I sure as heck appreciate a wise old cowboy, when I run into a real one. Everyone suffers loss, some sooner, others later. I'm not totally unique.
So Is my life totally fucked up?
You decide. But remember, the answer you get says more about you than it does about me.
Sometimes I get angry, and a lot of the time,m I can be depressed. I mean, if I am out saving broken and mean horses, that pretty much tells you something about me. Perhaps I was a little girl that desperately wished to be rescued. And maybe I got my wish. Not in the way I wanted it... but I did get another family, and another life.
I got sick, and my family pretty much didnt want me any more, because when people hear the words "brain damaged" they think "mental retardation," and I use that term, with all the pejoratives it conjures, for a reason... because if thats what people think, may as well aknowledge it and get past it.
I kind of felt watching the whole Terri Schiavo thing, like I was looking at a kindred spirit. It was one of those "One Of us!" moments, like in that movie, Freaks. I kind of knew what it felt like to be her. To be diminished, and concious, but pared down to the simplest essence of our being. Concerns go from "What color shall my hair be?" to "Can I get that sip of water to stay in my mouth?"
Articulation goes from a question of whether one is comfortable with public speaking, to wether one can get people to understand that the word youre having trouble with is "STOP!"
My problem is that words would mangle with my several layers of thoughts, and would pile into one huge gob of consonants and a vowel or two. I still do that, only more cutely, now. That would be one word. Usually my problem is that I cant get the word I want at all. I just stop. Or lose my train of thought in mid-sentence and end up wondering just what I was saying, why I am here, for a second. Mostly, it doesnt happen any more. When It does, I feel embearassed, but mostly ok about it, because everybody has brain farts... mine dont HAVE to be special.
But I do have stuff to bitch about.... My mom, and how she tries to push me around. Then theres the way E and i never seem to be on the same page, which is mostly remedied by the knowledge that nobody's EVER on the samee page. I'm not special in being denied perfect understanding and harmony in my marriage. In fact, thats probably the most normal thing about me. My childhood was awful, but whose childhood wasn't? Not very many people can claim perfect childhood, and personally, when people do, I always suspect they're lying. Usually people with the very most F**ked up lives, are the ones who claim they're perfect.
But the wwhole encepalitis thing really did make my life, and my teenage years different. I grew up mortal. There was no long golden span of years where I felt invincible and forever young, I was struggling to be alive, and I really appreciate every happy moment. They are a gift, because I grew up with pain, and frailty, and horribly bizzarre behaviours from just being STRANGE, I kind of appreciate normal moments more.
Like Sunlight on warm grass, and ice cream, even petting the cat. Its all so incredibly GOOD. Just being alive is good. Smelling the orange trees and the lemon tree outside my office window is a great privlage to me. I get excited about hearing 80's Hairband rock on the computer radio station, because it reminds me of when I was young and stupid and wasnt afraid of anything. At the old farm I had a boysenberry bramble growing in the front yard that I really enjoyd for a "Sacrament of Spring" as the taste was like nothing so much as a taste of Persephone's joy at ... well, escaping the Land Of The Dead. Just like I kind of did.
Kind of.
The chill hand of Pulto has left its mark on me. I get scared and I can be afraid of the things that lurk in the dark...I'm not afraid of the dark, thats absurd! But I do know more than most folks about what can be hiding in it. Bad things, scary people, and the stuff youre too afraid to think about in the daytime, because someone might see it on your face, if your thought about it where there was light to hit you. Those are the things that cause me to look out for broken horses with dark histories and bring to them a little bit of light, some good food and a place of safety. The Diablo horses dont really scare me because i have seen real demons, and the horses who have met real demons too... well, I cant leave them in hell. Somebody pulled me out, and took the time to do what they could for me.
I owe a soul-debt to do the same, if I can, for the Others like me.
That led me to some really pretty wonderful things. Like Lucky, and Mahiar (a sexy little horse, with a diablos temper about her dinner) and CJ. CJ may be the best. She was a broken child, and I had taught her other sister how to ride, but hadnt originally been very interested in her. But then... she got broken. Her head was hit, not once, but several times. She was partially deaf and so Fouled up she couldnt stay in school. I cant believe how much I love her. She came into my life at a time when I thought E and i were headed for Splitsville, and she gave me an emotional anchor, as well as someone I had to look ok for. No freakouts were possible--the girl was watching. So I dealt with my problems and taught her how to take care of the pony. She did good and loved the pony...
But then he died.
Isnt that just like life? Pony got sick, lingered for two weeeks, and E had to put him to sleep. It was a horrible day, for me, for CJ, and most of all, for E. Skoogie was a beautiful pony, too. Black, and clever and gaited, he was naughty enough to be a challenge, but all his pranks were funny... at least, if you weren't on the recieving end of it. I watched and could not help. CJ helped me as best she could and went with me to the hospital to visit pony. But there he died. I couldnt change that, and I couldnt stop it.
(sigh)
I'd just lost my favorite horse, NITA, shy of a year ago. I could relate. But we did the right thing. Just like we did the right thing for NITA, and for my little cat, Ken. I miss them all, every day. But it does make me patient with Guerma, and Kara, and GG, and even Mahiar, when I might not have been earlier in my life. I know that they can be lost, taken from me in the blink of an eye. Fifteen years ago, G died, and I lost my mentor, a great friend, and perhaps the only good parent I ever had. It blew my universe apart, but I sure as heck appreciate a wise old cowboy, when I run into a real one. Everyone suffers loss, some sooner, others later. I'm not totally unique.
So Is my life totally fucked up?
You decide. But remember, the answer you get says more about you than it does about me.
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